


crystal bones and filigree

by sophieisgod



Category: Hanna (2011)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Misses Clause Challenge, Robots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-25
Updated: 2011-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-28 02:11:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/302597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophieisgod/pseuds/sophieisgod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hanna’s feet are always cold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	crystal bones and filigree

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aragons](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aragons/gifts).



Hanna’s feet are always cold.

“I prefer to spend my energy on other things,” Hanna shrugs, when Sophie asks her for the fifteen hundredth time why she doesn’t just, like, redirect some heat or something.

Hanna’s cold all over, but somehow, squashed together in Sophie’s pathetic excuse for a single bed, all wayward springs and constant student-generated background hum rising through the floor, it’s the feet that have Sophie shifting and complaining.

“Fine, fine,” Hanna says, and then something in German that she knows Sophie can’t understand. She wriggles out of bed, and Sophie props herself up on her elbows to watch, curious to see what Hanna will do, how she’ll recalibrate her settings; if there’s a control panel Sophie hasn’t found it yet, and Sophie’s spent hours and hours looking, fingers sliding into curves and creases, pressing. Maybe something will light up.

Hanna crosses to the dresser, takes out a pair of socks, and sits in Sophie’s desk chair to put them on. She slides back into the bed, presses herself along Sophie’s back.

“Be still,” she says in Sophie’s ear, and Sophie shivers, Hanna’s hand cool against her stomach, socked feet brushing against her calves.

\--

“It’s too fucking hot,” Sophie moans.

“You picked Greece,” says Hanna, unmoved, as if Sophie needed reminding.

“There’s too much ice in this drink,” says Sophie, “or not enough, I can’t tell.”

“You should have worn a hat,” says Hanna. Sophie can see the edges of a sly smile starting, she’s so fucking obvious sometimes. “You’ll fry your circuits.”

“Ha bloody ha,” says Sophie. She tries to rearrange herself on the lounger, get comfortable, but it’s no fucking good.

“Give me your hand,” Hanna says, and Sophie sighs, stretches out her arm, closes her eyes against the sun.

Hanna turns her hand palm up, presses two chill fingers against Sophie’s wrist. A beat, then Sophie feels Hanna’s breath against her pulse point; her blood cools; her heart quickens. Hanna breathes.

“You have thirty new freckles on your face since yesterday,” Hanna says. Sophie opens her eyes. Hanna smiles. “Now stop whining.”

\--

Hanna is strange about the snow. It’s one of the things Sophie likes about her. She has these memories, or false memories, of growing up.

Hanna stands in the snow in her thin pyjamas, and Sophie stands and watches her. She brings it back on her skin, unmelted.

There are snowflakes on her eyelashes; Sophie brushes them out, uses her thumbs, like oil pastels. Sophie trails a finger across her collarbone, warms a path. She remembers frosty windows, pressing impatient hands to the glass; melting patterns to see out into the clear bright morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from 'Identical Snowflakes' by Hem


End file.
